


Kainokai

by bonbalurinaa



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Camping, Choking, DNF, Dirty Talk, First Time Blow Jobs, Frogs, Hand & Finger Kink, Happy Ending, M/M, Nails, Praise Kink, Scratching, Sexual Tension, Size kink but only a little bit, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Tent Sex, dreamnotfound, karlnap, made this just bc I wanted to write porn owo, scraping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29430054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonbalurinaa/pseuds/bonbalurinaa
Summary: Yeah, George hates camping, and yeah, he doesn't have a Valentine, so why would he agree to go on a Valentine's Day camping trip? There's one simple answer.Clay.Clay convinces George to go camping with him, Karl, Nick, and Alex, but it's not his fault all of the tents look the same, right? Plus, it's only for a couple of nights.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 17
Kudos: 332





	Kainokai

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! (three days late owo)
> 
> I hope you enjoy my short fic, please leave a comment and remember to follow me on Twitter @bonbalurinaa.
> 
> P.S, bonus points if you can figure out why the title is what it is :).

* * *

George sighed tiredly, weak hands dropping his book in favour of coming up to run down the side of his face, eventually moving to cover his ears. His eyes followed suit, squeezing shut. It was loud, far too loud, and George’s head was thumping so hard he’d be surprised if no one else could hear it. Then again, he doubted anything could match their volume, so perhaps it wasn’t so unbelievable that they couldn’t hear his headache.

Something hit him in the back of the head and he whirled around with such speed, his neck throbbed with whiplash. 

_ Great,  _ he thought, mood only heightening in irritation,  _ something else that hurts. _

“What the fuck was that?” He growled angrily, staring expectantly between the three boys in the back of the car. Three pairs of eyes widened in alarm, giving George a moment of sensational silence, which was quickly shattered as they all broke out into laughter, wheezing and spluttering over one another. “Clay!”

The man in question rose his hands in surrender, lines that ran along his palms catching George’s attention. “I’m sorry!” He managed, losing George in the tan stretch of his skin that seemed to glow when he smiled. George’s expression softened, eyes fluttering over the few freckles here and there across the blonde boy’s face. It was saddening to think he could stay in that uncomfortable, twisted position in the front of the car for hours if it meant he could still watch Clay.

He was broken from his trance by— _ another— _ piece of paper hitting him. He glared at the direction from which it came, but he’d been too distracted by the tallest of them all to see  _ who _ it had come from.

Nick and Alex both froze, fingers pointing at each other accusingly.

“It was Nick!” Alex shouted at the same time Nick yelled,

“Alex threw it!”

Alex’s shocked expression turned to a frown and he scoffed. “I did not! You’re such a liar.” 

“Am not.”

“Are so!”

“Am n—”

“Shut up! Both of you, oh my god, can’t you throw shit at each other instead of me?” George interrupted angrily, face reddening slightly from the sudden shouting. “I just want to read my book, you guys are so annoying.” He sighed defeatedly, turning back around to slump back against his seat. His book had fallen to the ground whilst he was facing the other three, and there he left it, instead wrapping his arms around himself and shutting his eyes. It was difficult, but he tried his best to block out the chatter that had resumed behind him.

George hadn’t even wanted to go on this stupid camping trip in the first place. He didn’t like being outdoors, nor did he have a Valentine—and neither did Clay or Alex for that matter, so their attendance was beyond him—, yet Karl and Nick had all forced him to come along. Initially, he refused, but it only took a couple of seconds of Clay’s pleading for him to give in.

_ “Come on, Georgie.”  _ He’d said.  _ “It will be fun.”  _ Somehow, George hadn’t believed him.

_ “It won’t be. They’ll just be making out the whole time.”  _ George had huffed.  _ “They don’t even want me to come. They just want to use my car because it’s the biggest.” _

George remembered how Clay had tilted his head from the corner of his eye, then reached across between them to take George’s chin between his fingers and pull it towards him so the two were face to face. He also remembered the way his stomach had twisted and turned with nerves, hope sprinkled in between as his eyes had flickered from Clay’s mouth up to meet his gaze.

_ “I want you to come.” _

So George had come along.

There he sat at 6:30am, uncomfortable, in the passenger seat of his own car, wrapped within his limbs and leaning against the window. Although the noise had died down significantly since he’d told the other three off, his headache persisted, ears ringing incessantly. He shook his head in the hopes that the static would disappear, but to no avail. Everything was too loud, and it was at times like this that he cursed out Clay for so easily convincing George to do anything he wanted.

The melodic sound of Clay’s laugh brought George out of his half-conscious state, who sat up a bit straighter. He turned to glance at him for just a moment, their eyes locking almost instantly. Clay’s lips upturned into an apologetic smile before his attention was caught by Nick throwing a pen at his nose.

He exclaimed in pain, dark blue veins tensing on the back of his hand as he cupped his nose. George’s eyes lingered for a moment too long before he returned to his slouched position, bringing his legs up to hug them to his chest whilst the image of Clay’s palm against his pouting face remained stagnant in his mind.

He rolled his eyes at himself beneath closed lids, wondering if Clay knew the power he held over him. All George needed was a ‘please’ and he’d do anything Clay asked him to. There was little he couldn’t get away with.

Karl gazed down at him from the driver’s seat and smiled fondly, ignoring his friends in the back.

“You okay?” Karl asked, voice quiet yet firm to ensure he could be heard over both the radio and the babbling behind them.

George opened his eyes slowly. He nodded, shutting them again and letting his head fall against his knees. “Just tired. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” He mumbled, yawning.

Karl looked back to the road, checking behind them as he changed lanes. “How come?”

George shook his head, implying he didn’t want to talk about it.

Why  _ would  _ he want to talk about it? It’s not like Karl wanted to hear about how George couldn’t fall asleep because he’d laid in bed for hours thinking about Clay. More importantly? Clay’s hands.

A shiver racked through him just thinking about them, and he couldn’t help the giddy smile that formed on his lips when he thought of his own ridiculousness. His thighs squeezed together at the same time he sighed, pulling his head up and knocking it back against the headrest to ensure he didn’t get too ahead of himself in a car with four other people.

One mental image of Clay’s hands and George was reduced to putty, heat spiking inside him.

It wasn’t like he always stayed up late thinking about Clay, but sometimes things happened throughout the day that made it impossible not to.

For instance, every Friday after class, the five of them went and ate an early dinner together at a small diner a few blocks away from campus. So, yesterday, like the end of every other week, they headed down to get dinner.

On the way there, Karl, Nick, and Alex all walked in front, Nick and Karl linked together in one way or another, meaning Clay and George were left to fend for themselves from behind. 

God, the memory was still so clear in his mind; the way Clay had effortlessly grabbed his hand whilst they walked to hold it up against his own. George remembered how rough it felt, bumps and calluses littering the edge of his palm from where he rested it on his laptop. 

The way his cheeks heated up was something George would never forget. Somehow, he’d been producing more heat than the Floridian sun above them.

_ “Your hands are. . . tiny!” Clay’s brows rose in surprise, his lips disconnecting with disbelief. George frowned. _

_ “They are not.” He insisted, trying to tear his hand away. Clay’s grip remained solid, his other hand further reinforcing this by encircling George’s wrist. _

_ Suddenly, George’s throat felt extremely dry. He swallowed nervously, hoping that might increase the moisture in his mouth. _

_ “It’s nice.” Clay murmured, thumb rubbing against George’s. He stared down at their point of connection with the same concentration George had seen on his face when he was trying to figure out why a code wasn’t working. The way his lips were parted, George wouldn’t have been surprised if drool fell from them. “They’re nice. . . your hands.” _

_ George couldn’t speak, staring up at Clay. His pupils were wide and flickered across Clay’s face, searching for an answer as to what was going on. _

_ Nothing was said after that, but Clay never let go of him. They walked hand in hand the rest of the way to the diner, letting go only once they shuffled into the booth next to each other. _

George released a shaky breath he didn’t know he’d been holding once the memory faded. He needed something else to think about, or else this car ride was going to last forever.

The rest of the way to the campsite, George had done his best to pay attention to anything other than one of the three boys sitting behind them. Granted, that became considerably difficult when Karl and Clay had swapped seats so Karl didn’t have to drive the whole way. 

George had all of a sudden become extremely interested in his book, nose buried between the pages as he allowed himself to become distracted.

A couple of hours later, the car was turned onto a bumpy dirt road that ended at the campsite. Luckily, no one else was there, the parking lot (which only had room for five or six vehicles) was empty. Clay brought it to a stop and finally shifted the gear stick into ‘park’, the sound of the car powering down bringing George from his thoughts.

“We’re here?” George frowned, glancing through the windshield. There were only trees in front of them, so he assumed the rest of the site was further along the path to their right.

Clay smiled at him from the driver’s seat. Karl, Alex, and Nick had already jumped out and were scrambling to get their things from the trunk of the car. “Oh, don’t sound so excited, George.” He teased playfully, smile eventually faltering into concern, brows knitting together. “Are you alright? You don’t look too good.”

George rose his brows. “Jeez, thanks.” 

“No! That’s not what I—” Clay began to insist, eyes wide with worry, but George interrupted him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m just joking, calm down.” Reassuringly, George grinned and pulled his hand away. Clay’s eyes followed the movement, leaving only once it was hidden behind the centre console.

“Really, though. You look super tired, George. Did you sleep well?”

The uneasiness that plagued Clay’s sweet voice would annoy George if it was coming from anyone else, but knowing that Clay was so earnestly unsettled by the threat of George feeling unwell only brought him happiness. It was nice to know someone worried about him, and it was even nicer to know that it was Clay.

At the mention of sleep, George’s face flushed immediately. Heat rose to his cheeks like it was second nature and he looked away, scratching the back of his head and coughing to the side, clearing his throat. “It was fine, yeah.” He lied, taking a moment to catch his breath. Turning back to Clay, George found himself lost in his anxious, honey eyes, darkness swirling out from his pupils as what George could guess was maybe brown, but instead saw as a deep red.

“Are you sure?” Clay continued, beginning to ramble. George wanted to slap him for being so considerate. “Because you’ve been a little off since the start of the trip and I know you didn’t really want to come in the first place, and I’m really glad you decided to, but if you don’t feel well then I can always drive you back.” He offered thoughtfully, gaze full of warmth and care.

George glowered at him. “No! No, I’m—I’m fine, okay? Can you just drop it, please?” He whined exasperatedly, clicking his seatbelt and moving to get out of the car.

Clay shut his mouth, teeth pressed flat together. “Yeah. . . okay.” He murmured, reluctantly undoing his own seatbelt to do the same as George and join the others.

The next hour was filled with failed attempts at setting up tents and a lot of swearing. Fortunately for George, he’d disappeared to nap in the backseat of his car whilst the other four boys did their best to create their living space for the next few days.

“You’re actually fucking stupid, you know that, Alex?” Clay hissed angrily, kneeling down to yank the terribly misplaced stake from its hole in the ground.

Alex’s nose scrunched up in vindication and he gestured at Clay with his hammer. “Oh,  _ I’m _ the one that’s stupid?” He yelled. “At least I tried to read the instructions, you asshole! Maybe if you’d helped me when I asked this wouldn’t have happened.” His gesturing caused him to drop the hammer, conveniently landing right on top of Clay’s foot. He gasped in surprise, because he totally didn’t expect it to hit him.

“Fuck!” Clay cried out, falling back to grab his foot. “You bitch!” 

Alex leaned down to swipe the hammer quickly and back away so Clay didn’t have a chance to grab him. “Shit, that was an accident. Sorry!”

“Watch what you’re doing next time you’re holding a fucking weapon, you moron.” Clay seethed with anger, face red from pain and rage.

“I wouldn’t be holding it if I’d had help earlier because we’d already be finished!” Alex rebutted, arms crossing over his chest.

Clay grinned playfully from his spot on the ground. “Take off that ugly beanie and maybe I will help you.” He taunted, trying to lighten the situation to avoid focusing on his throbbing foot. 

Suppressed ‘ooh’s’ could be heard from Nick and Karl, who had already managed to build their tent and were hidden inside it, listening to the argument. Karl appeared shortly after, making his way across the unlit campfire to his friends.

“Fuck you, my beanie’s nice; a lot better looking than that dumbass hoodie.” Alex pointed out, nodding towards Clay, whose upper body was clad comfortably in a bright green hoodie with a little black smiley face in the corner.

Karl interrupted before Clay could spit his counter.

“Or—” he began, stepping between them, “—we could finish this last tent so you and George don’t have to sleep in the same tent, hm, Clay?” He proposed, looking from Clay to Alex expectantly.

Nick appeared from behind him, arms wrapping around Karl and head resting on his shoulder. “I bet Clay would like that.” He grinned teasingly, causing Alex and Karl to start laughing.

“You bet Clay would like what?”

Everyone’s heads turned to look back, a groggy George having materialised before them. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, swamped by the large black hoodie that hung from his shoulders and around his body. He must have changed into it before his nap, because, as far as Clay knew, that was  _ not _ what he was wearing earlier.

The blonde one’s mouth opened in disbelief, overwhelmed by how attracted he was to the view before him. He didn’t speak, eyes entranced by how small George looked, surrounded by material. 

“Oh, we were just talking about how Clay wants to sleep in the same ten—”

Nick was cut off by Clay yelling out gibberish, finally finishing with, “—nothing! Nothing, I don’t like anything.” He dismissed quickly. They all sighed.

“Don’t lie, Clay. He likes  _ you _ .” Alex reminded.

“Shut up!” Clay didn’t speak over him in time, the words flowing freely to George’s ears. His cheeks were already burning from having just woken up, so the way they only reddened more was something he hoped no one noticed. “Ignore them, they’re just being idiots.” Clay disregarded the entire thing, pushing himself up off the ground, wincing once he applied pressure to his foot. “Shit.” He hissed, lifting his foot up a few inches so he wasn’t resting on it.

George was still taken aback by everything that had just happened, but he was more concerned about why Clay couldn’t step on one of his feet. “What’s wrong?” He came forward to grasp Clay’s arm, fingers encircling his bicep to help steady him.

Clay narrowed his eyes and turned to look at Alex, eyes flaring with anger yet again. “Alex. He dropped a fucking  _ hammer _ on me.” 

“I didn’t mean to!” Alex replied quickly, voice higher than usual as he was blamed for something he didn’t do on purpose.

“Yeah, he didn’t mean to.” Nick defended, slipping from Karl to loop his arm around Alex’s shoulder and bring him closer, though he was shoved off in an instant.

George scrunched his nose up. “You’re gross. You don’t always need to be touching one of them, Nick. Alex doesn’t even like you.” George sneered, faux-disgust laced through his voice.

They all scoffed and Nick began laughing, so hard it might be sensible to think he was at a comedy show.

If there was one thing George hated, it was being left out of a joke, or not understanding one. His nostrils flared with annoyance and he took a half step forward, touch never leaving Clay.

“What’s so funny?” He insisted annoyedly.

Nick calmed himself down, still wheezing between words. “Nothing, it’s just—Karl’s my  _ boyfriend, _ and you’re literally—” Nick couldn’t finish his sentence as he burst out laughing again, except this time, Karl and Alex joined him. He pointed to where George’s hand was secured around Clay’s arm, and realisation dawned between them.

Much to Clay’s surprise, George didn’t pull away from him. Usually when the other three poked fun at them for being more touchy than the average friends, George cowered and distanced himself from Clay as much as possible, however, he’d recently been standing his ground and coming up with snarky remarks to combat their teasing rather than running away from it.

It was something so simple that made Clay’s heart flutter. He knew he was likely thinking into it too much, but still allowed himself to bathe in the sensation of George’s flushed skin against his own.

“That’s different.” George insisted, fingers mindlessly caressing Clay’s upper arm. He didn’t want the conversation to continue because he knew he wouldn’t be able to think of a comeback, so he waved them off with his free hand and began tugging Clay away. An arm wrapped around his shoulders for support, and he did his best not to sink into the comfort it brought. “Finish building my tent, will you? See you later!” 

And with that, Clay and George disappeared together down one of the paths the forked from the campsite.

Half way through the walk, Clay had stopped limping. George noticed straight away, hoping it had already started to feel better. The last thing he wanted was for Clay to be immobile throughout the duration of their trip; if that happened, it would mean he’d be left to fend for himself when their friends dragged him out for an activity whilst Clay had the luxury of remaining inside his tent.

Luckily, that didn’t seem to be the case. Although they were walking slowly, Clay was applying the same amount of pressure with each step he took, meaning he must have been feeling a little stronger.

This was not supported, however, by the arm that refused to leave George’s shoulders. Similarly to the day before, George was struggling to focus on anything other than the weight around him, bringing him closer to Clay’s side. This was a lot different to walking hand-in-hand, that was for sure. Clay’s arm was so warm against the back of his neck, and he’d noticed when he’d looked around for birds that Clay’s hand was  _ extremely _ close to his face, resting cozily on his shoulder.

He’d licked his lips nervously, vowing to never look over that way again.

George realised he was lost in his thoughts, guilt flowing through him. He knew Clay loved to talk, and he always felt bad when he zoned out because he wanted to give his friend the outlet to rant, and he also didn’t want it to come across as though he was bored. When he was around Clay, it was difficult to concentrate on anything other than how wonderful he was, but it wasn’t like he could explain that, so usually he just settled for a quick apology.

“What do you think they’re doing right now?” George hummed thoughtfully.

For once, Clay was distracted too. “Hm? Oh, umm. . .” he mulled over the possibilities, tilting his head back and forth until he picked one he thought was the most likely, “I want to say something—y’know, but they’re too lazy for that at like, 10am.” He joked. “So, I’m not sure. Karl is probably on his phone whilst Nick and Alex are talking.”

George slipped his hands into the pockets of his large hoodie. “Is there even reception out here? I feel like we’re in the middle of nowhere.” He complained, a twinge of immaturity backing his voice.

Clay laughed, head hanging for a moment. “Yeah, there is, it’s just not very good.”

“Of course it’s not.” George mumbled begrudgingly, kicking a stone in front of him. He watched as it bounded forward, stopping once it hit another rock and flew into the bushes.

The arm around his shoulders dropped down to his side. George’s body stiffened for a moment, heat pouring over him so quickly it was embarrassing.

“Lighten up, Georgie. It’s not that bad, right?” Clay squeezed George closer to him, doing his best not to show just how much the lack of space between them affected him as he continued. “You’ve spent most of your time with me. Should I be worried?”

George shook his head quickly. He definitely didn’t want Clay thinking his presence was what was making him complain about the trip. “No, of course not.” He responded hastily, fingers fumbling within his pockets. “It’s just—I hate the wilderness. And it’s gonna be so cold tonight. Sleeping bags aren’t very warm. Plus, it’s Valentine’s Day, what if we have to listen to Karl and Nick like—like,  _ fucking _ through the tents.” He complained exasperatedly, leaning into Clay’s side.

Clay snorted. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, Georgie.” He laughed.  _ There  _ was something he could go through life without ever hearing—Karl and Nick having sex. He grimaced at the thought. “You know how embarrassed they’d all get, I don’t think we’d have been invited if they planned on being loud. That’s fucked up, anyway, I don’t think they’d do that to all of us.” He explained. 

Honestly, George wasn’t really listening, too engrossed by the feeling of Clay’s hand spread around the outer edge of his ribcage, just below his chest. It was a part of him that, if unclothed, could be considered intimate when touched. He wondered how Clay’s hands would feel against his skin, how big his large, tan fingers would look covering at least half of George’s pale abdomen. He bet Clay’s hands would fit the grooves above his hips really well, like they were made to. The thought of Clay on him distracted George even further. 

Clay could probably take control of him easily as well. George wasn’t very big, after all. A hand pressed against his stomach was all it would take to keep him still.

He pursed his lips nervously. “Yeah, I guess so.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, and yet again, Clay’s hand stayed put around George’s body. It provided him with a warmth George melted into like he did every other time Clay offered him the slightest of touches. It was embarrassing to think of how quickly he succumbed when it came to Clay. He felt so pliant pressed into his side at that moment that he could be asked to do just about anything and he’d probably agree to it. 

George lifted his head from Clay’s body at the sound of a frog beside them. He stopped in his tracks, meaning Clay was forced to as well. 

“What is it?” Clay questioned, looking over in the direction George’s head was turned to see if he could figure out what it was that was important enough to stop. He didn't spend a lot of time looking, instead taking the opportunity to lean back and admire George’s profile.

“I heard a ‘ribbit’, like, a frog.” Thoughtlessly, he pulled away from Clay’s grip to shuffle over to the side of the path and squat down, eyes scouring the long grass and bushes with the hopes of spotting the amphibian. It ribbitted again, only this time it sounded like it was higher than ground level. 

George stood up and squinted, stepping towards the closest tree, pausing only when he’d caught sight of the frog.

“There it is!” 

His finger pointed at a small brown blob, though it was more red than brown to George. It was hardly discernible from the bark on the tree, and George found himself moving closer until his knees bumped into the base of the trunk.

Whilst George was entranced by the frog, Clay was entranced by George.

He remained standing in the middle of the path, arm feeling empty without having George’s body to wrap around. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans and watched as the shorter of the two leaned down to search for. . . whatever he was looking for, Clay hadn’t been paying attention. The way the afternoon sun shone down on George’s pale complexion, making him appear barely less pale than usual, was enough for Clay to take notice of nothing else. He could have sworn George’s skin glowed under the warm lustre, luring in Clay’s eyes. He was sure he couldn’t resist it.

When George stood to lean in closer to the tree, Clay found himself shuffling forward, so close that his knees nearly touched the back of George’s thighs,

The frog hopped along the outer edge of the tree’s trunk and disappeared into the leaves. There was no chance they’d find it now. Plus, it was almost lunch time and George was getting hungry.

When he’d had enough of wondering if the frog would come back, George turned around to leave. It was only then he found out that he couldn’t really move, trapped in by Clay.

“Maybe we should head back n—” he’d began, stopping himself early, “—oh.” George swallowed awkwardly, the heat from how close they were beginning to creep up his neck. “Clay?” 

Clay hummed in response, as if urging George to elaborate. His arm came forward to press into the tree beside George’s head. His eyes were dark and low, a look gracing his face that George had never—or at least not very often—seen before.

“What’re you, uh, doing?” George stammered, pressing his lips together tightly.

Clay brought his free hand from the tree and ran it down the side of George’s face, then back up again. It began to descend once more, except this time, it paused on the edge of George’s jawline and dragged down until it reached his chin, where he held.

“Just looking.” He murmured, tipping George’s head up a little. It was the perfect position for a kiss, and George felt himself fretting about what might happen.

“At what?” George dared.

Clay smiled, face lighting up dimly with adoration as he stared at the brunet boy, deep green orbs pouring into brown ones.

“You.” He replied easily, thumb dragging down George’s bottom lip and along the base of his chin. He watched as the soft pink skin glistened in the sun, indicating George had licked his lips barely moments ago. The shine caught his attention more than anything, and it took everything he had not to lean down and capture it for himself.

George gulped. Heat stirred in his stomach, so hot, so distracting. It wandered south, and George realised how vulnerable of a position he was in. 

Leaning up against the tree, legs slightly apart, George would let Clay do anything he wanted. The fact that he felt this way was still registering in George’s mind, and in the future he would be sure to reprimand himself for being so easy.

But, it was Clay, of course he was going to be easy.

“Me?” He managed, voice hardly audible. Clay nodded. “Why?”

Clay’s smile had dissolved, though he wasn’t frowning. His face had yet again reverted to that of concentration, thumb abandoning George’s lip in favour of caressing his jaw. “I’m always looking at you.” He confessed. “It’s just that now you happen to be noticing it.” His voice was low, purposely quiet and meant only for George to hear.

George’s heart swelled, eyes threatening to roll in to the back of his head from how purely  _ good _ hearing that made him feel.

Clay shifted where he was standing, changing which leg was bearing the burden of his weight whilst the other came forward to rest between George’s knees, bent a little. The top of his thigh barely touched George, though the contact was still obvious to both of them. It made heat flare within George, and he half-considered shuffling forward to slide on and straddle it.

“You want to know why?” Clay whispered, head tilting gently to the side as he inched closer. George nodded, eyes flickering nervously down to Clay’s lips and back up to meet his gaze. Clay’s thigh crept higher.

The loud blaring of Clay’s phone tore into the silence of the moment. Clay abruptly stood up and leaned back, taking a couple of steps away from George, who looked equally as flustered, pressed up against the tree.

Clay fumbled to answer the call, holding it up to his ear and turning away, wandering back to the path. “Hello?” He asked aggravatedly.

Whilst Clay answered the phone, George took the time to recalibrate. First thing was first, he stepped away from the tree and returned to the path, a few metres in front of Clay so he wasn’t tempted to eavesdrop. He patted himself down and made sure his pants were comfortable, then ran a hand through his hair a couple of times, brushing out bits of bark that had gathered at the back.

A long breath fell from his lips and he held his face in his hands, shaking his head before standing up straight again. What had just happened? Was this a fever dream? Maybe he  _ was _ ill and this was all a conjuring of his diseased mind. God, he wished it could be that easy.

“We’d better head back.” Clay started as he made his way towards George, indicating for him to head in the initial direction they were going before George had heard the frog. “They’re making some lunch, don’t want it to get cold, I guess.”

George nodded stiffly, resuming his pace beside Clay without speaking.

He’d never wanted to see Karl, Alex, and Nick more than he did then.

When they made it back, they were greeted with happy faces, a welcome contrast to the silent (but not uncomfortable) walk back, Yes, George felt a bit awkward because he was still trying to comprehend what the  _ fuck _ had just happened, but neither he nor Clay deserved to be in a state of complete disarray before they had a chance to talk about it, so each boy acted like nothing had changed.

For the remaining hours of daylight, the five of them hung around the campfire, ate lunch, and played a couple of card games. It wasn’t until the Sun had just about disappeared and rain had begun to dampen their clothing that they realised how late it was. At that point, everyone was tired anyway, so all the boys bid their goodnights and retired to their tents for the night. Alex, Clay, and George were all in separate tents, whilst Karl and Nick shared a slightly bigger one.

_ Finally _ , George thought, pulling his pants off,  _ silence. _

He tugged on a pair of shorts instead, which was rather hypocritical of him considering he’d been complaining about the lack of heat only hours earlier, but seriously, who slept in pants?

Deciding he wasn’t quite read for bed, he flattened his sleeping bag and laid down on top of it, then propped up all of his pillows behind him (he’d brought three) and drew his blanket up to his thighs.

George’s hand tapped his leg mindlessly whilst his other held his book, eyes scanning the pages tiredly. There was a lot on his mind, so he wasn’t really reading. It was a little difficult for him to concentrate on some story when the only thing he could think about was how big Clay’s hands were compared to his own.

He put his book down next to him and laid back against the pillows more, hands laid across his stomach. It wasn’t long before they slipped beneath his shirt, tips dancing across the heated bumps of his ribs.

He imagined his hands were Clay’s instead, finger gliding over the softness of his nipple.  _ Would Clay be gentle, or rough? _ George didn’t think he’d care, so long as Clay was still touching him. Daringly, one hand continued playing with his nipple whilst the other ventured lower, fingers threading through the short, thin hairs of his snail-trail before he gave in and let it slide underneath the waistband of his shorts.

Unsurprisingly, he felt himself twitch through his underwear, fingers searing him through the material as he formed a cup with his hand and pressed down. A gasp fell through gritted teeth and he cursed himself for being so sensitive. He blamed it on the fact that he wanted his hand to be Clay’s—people were always more sensitive when it was someone else touching them.

He circled his thumb around his areola, arching his back so he could shove his hoodie up under his chin. It was no use, there was two much material, so it gathered around the rest of him and left bare only his hand and his nipple.

“Fuck.” He muttered. Was he really about to do this? Get off on his friends’ Valentine’s Day trip? He tried to justify it before continuing; they wouldn’t know, he’d be quiet, everyone got off at some point so it wasn’t unnatural, and he hadn’t thought Clay was going to be so. . . straightforward, or else maybe he’d have tried to prepare himself to avoid being so needy for the rest of the day. 

Even though his justification wasn’t very liable, George’s hand was creeping into his underwear, engulfed in heat.

His hand didn’t wait before it was wrapped around his length. He lifted his hips hurriedly so he could pull his shorts off as well as his briefs, tossing both items beside him. Fingers encircled himself again and he let out a shaky breath, his fist beginning to move up and down along his shaft. 

No,  _ Clay’s _ fist began to move up and down, speed steadily increasing over the next couple of minutes before he was moving at a pretty average pace. He did his best to refrain from bucking up into the warmth of his hand, his want to savour the moment stronger than the want to get off.

He wanted to remember this. There was something scandalous about getting off in such close proximity to his friends anyway, and it was even  _ more _ scandalous when it was one of those friends that was the mental material for his upcoming orgasm.

Shutting his eyes tighter, George tried to focus on imagining it was a certain large, defined hand whose grip was around him, rather than his own. He’d memorised the bumps along Clay’s palm already, so it wasn’t hard to envision those running along the side of himself.

He moaned quietly at the imagery, thankful for the pitter-patter of rain that muffled his sounds.

Glancing down at himself, George whimpered at the sight of his cock. It was a lot easier to see, given the small lamp he had set up in the corner of his tent. The added luminescence only made the swollen tip of his straining length all the more obvious. 

He flicked his thumb over the tip, hips pulsing and lips dropping open in a cry at how good it felt. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip and he tossed his head back. That one was too loud, he knew that, but he hadn’t expected it to feel so electric. Now that he thought about it, he’d been really busy so it had been a while since he’d gotten off, and Clay had been extremely touchy recently, so he supposed the built-up energy would probably make sense.

George decided not to do that again, instead choosing to continue thrusting into his fist and pausing to let his wrist move on its own accord when he felt too tired. He was conscious of how quickly his orgasm was building, almost at the same rate at which the brevity of the storm was increasing.

George was totally lost to everything around him, fingers clamping down on his nipple whilst his fist stroked needily up and down over his shaft, making sure to steer clear of his tip. His moans began to get louder and louder until they descended into high-pitched whimpers, teeth doing little justice to keep his mouth closed.

And then there was Clay, who, for some reason, had chosen to wait until everyone was—seemingly—asleep before he went out to use the bathroom. There was a small restroom a little out of the campsite towards the parking lot where people could go, but all five of them had agreed to just use the bushes unless they really needed to go, because it would just be easier.

George hadn’t been happy about it, even going as far as to list off all the dangers, especially to men, of using the wilderness as one’s bathroom.

Clay snickered to himself at the memory and shook his head, tugging up his boxers and beginning to redo the buttons before doing the same with his sweatpants.

In the midst of this, Clay had noticed that the already pouring rain had clouded over even more intensely, and within a few moments, the storm had arrived and rain began gushing down.

Clay groaned in annoyance, nearly tripping over the end of his pants in the process of turning and trying to get back as quickly as possible. He was glad he'd left the little lantern they’d all bought one of on, or else he wouldn’t have been able to differentiate his tent from Alex and George’s (the fourth tent was a lot bigger, so he had no trouble with that one).

Unbeknownst to him, George’s tent, which was closer on the way back than his own, was lit up as well with George’s reading light.

He quickly came back from where he'd gone to empty his bladder, sighing in relief when he saw how close what he thought was his tent was. He practically threw down the zipper and clambered in, turning after closing the entrance again and nearly falling over since it was so slippery.

Small gasps and whimpers of pleasure brought to Clay’s attention that this was  _ not _ his tent.

His head snapped up, and the sight he was met with was. . . certainly one to behold.

There George laid, blankets bunched up around his knees and that damn hoodie covering his upper half, with the exception of his hand on his nipple which had somehow managed to make its way through the sea of black material.

Despite how terrible Clay felt about the way his gaze focused on the tip of George’s flushed cock, Clay’s mind wandered, now thinking about how good he’d be able to make the other boy feel if he could assist him. His mouth tipped open in awe and he couldn’t help the way his eyes stared, centering in on George’s length like he was magnetised to it. It looked so strained, like George hadn’t gotten off for days.

It took George a few seconds to realise that someone was intruding, and when he saw who, he nearly fainted.

“Wha—Clay! What the  _ fuck _ , man?!” He whisper-screamed, embarrassment washing over him as he pulled the blankets up around his body to gather at his waist when he sat up. If Clay hadn’t seen him before, it would be totally unknown to him that George wasn’t wearing pants. “What are you doing here?!”

Clay blinked a few times. "This isn't my tent." He mumbled, but soon after, he began laughing, needing something to cope with the terror of the situation. “Oh my god, I just walked in on you getting off.” He wheezed, desperately trying to direct the conversation away from himself so he could have time to think of ways to cover his newfound arousal which pulsed between his legs in time with his heartbeat.

"Whatever, shut the fuck up, Clay." George spat, irritated but not actually that angry, and Clay didn’t think twice about the genuity of George’s rage. "Why are you in here, anyway?"

"Well, George, it's raining outside. I went out a little deeper into the woods to use the bathroom, and then it started raining even more. Your light is on," He gestured to the little clamp attached to George's suitcase in the corner of his tent, "—and mine is too, so I just assumed this was mine." He explained. "Sorry, Georgie, didn't mean to interrupt your alone time." Clay wiggled his brows and George scoffed, shuffling over a bit so the other boy could join him on the makeshift bed.

George wasn’t sure why he thought it was a good idea to invite Clay over, but it felt natural.

Clay half-considered sliding beneath the covers as he took the invitation to make himself comfortable, but George was naked from the waist down, so perhaps that wouldn’t be appreciated.

They sat there in silence for a little while, knees bumping together from either side of the blanket since George’s ‘bed’ was hardly big enough for one person, let alone two. Not only that, Clay was a lot taller than him so his legs took up a lot more space.

Even the simplest of touches drove George crazy. Their skin wasn’t even in contact, yet it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to fight back thoughts of what Clay’s hands would feel like all over his body when he was achingly hard beside him. He knew his erection wasn’t going away anytime soon, especially not when being caught had sent a new wave of adrenaline through his body, filling him with sensations he didn’t know he could feel tied into embarrassment.

After a few moments, Clay mustered up the courage to speak, tone cool yet laced with jealousy. As much as he tried to mask it, he failed. “So, Georgie, who’s the special lady on your mind?”

With wide eyes, George whipped his head around to glare at Clay. “Lady?” He sputtered, grabbing at the blankets over his legs and pulling them up closer to his chest, as if hiding himself. Clay started laughing, and George took that as an opportunity to play off his overreaction, shocked expression turning to that of irritation. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He jeered, bumping Clay with his elbow.

“Well, duh, that’s why I asked.” He deadpanned, shifting so he was laying on his side facing George rather than sitting. His back hurt from sitting in the car all day, and relief flooded through him at the change in position, even though the ground beneath him was hard. “Come on, George.” Clay’s finger lazily dragged down the side of George’s clothed arm, eyes drawn to the way the black material pooled around his digit. He didn’t speak for a couple of seconds, finger making its way back up to George’s shoulder before resuming its prior route.

George didn’t reply at all, stunned into silence, eyes locked to the same place as Clay’s.

Distractedly, Clay’s hand crept under the sleeve of George’s hoodie, bunching it up around his elbow so he could softly trace the dark outline of George’s veins against the pale expanse of his forearm. Clay’s thumb and middle finger formed a circle around George’s wrist, and he held it up in front of his face, moving closer, inspecting it.

The heat of Clay’s breath fanned against the coolness of George’s wrist, resulting in a wave of goosebumps that flew through his body. Clay became aware of this, twisting his arm so he could turn George’s hand around to examine the small mounds, thumb running over them thoughtfully.

A breath left George’s lips, louder than he’d expected it to be. It made Clay glance up at him, their eyes meeting. Clay hadn’t realised just how badly George was reacting to his touch, suddenly very aware of how wide his pupils were, the redness of his face, and the way he couldn’t find it in himself to close his mouth.

His gaze fell from George’s, sidetracked by the pinkess of his tongue as it swiped over his top teeth nervously.

Clay’s other hand found its way to George’s chin, fingers spread out over the side of his jaw whilst his thumb pressed down on his bottom lip, tipping forward to graze his lower few teeth.

“Clay. . .” George breathed, anxiety dripping from his voice.

“You can tell me.” Clay reiterated quietly, grip falling from around George’s wrist. George grabbed it quickly before he could stop himself, fingers interlacing through Clay’s. He let their hands rest against the pillows below them, eyes searching Clay’s concentrated face.

George barely shook his head, the movement so miniscule it would have been missed if Clay wasn’t watching him so closely.

Clay’s brows faltered and he scarcely resisted the urge to frown. His fingers danced along the outer edge of George’s jaw, moving further and further behind him until it settled on the back of his neck, situating itself in such a way that he could easily twist and turn George’s head.

“I don’t want to tell you.” George’s voice was hushed and scared, worried that, despite the fact that Clay was initiating everything, maybe he was reading into it too much? This couldn’t have been happening, not so perfectly, so naturally. He couldn’t believe it, not until it was blatant in front of his face.

Clay’s expression contorted into a pout. He sighed, incrementally making his way closer and closer to George. The hand on the back of George’s neck gently pulled him in, so slowly he doubted George would notice, especially not with how distracted he was.

“You’re no fun. . .” he complained. “I could guess?” 

George bit his bottom lip, catching Clay’s eyes for a moment. He nodded.

“Let me think,” Clay hummed, “Karl?”

George’s nose scrunched up in a smile. He shook his head.

“Alex?”

“Definitely not.” George responded, easing up a little.

Deciding he wasn’t satisfied with George’s relaxation, Clay squeezed either side of his neck in thought, watching as the smaller one’s mouth dropped open like it did each time Clay’s touch overstepped the boundary of friendship.

“Nick?” George didn’t respond that time, shaking his head. 

Clay let his hand slide around to the front of George’s neck. The blonde boy’s breath stuttered as George’s adam’s apple bobbed against the flatness of his palm, unable to help himself as he lightly applied pressure, happy with his choice of movement if only to see the way George’s eyes disappeared into the back of his head.

“You like that?” Clay murmured, scanning George’s face for signals to stop. When he couldn't find any, he squeezed more.

The sound that fell from George’s throat was glorious; a small whine that deepened into a short moan. It made Clay’s mouth water with want, hand subconsciously squeezing again with the need to hear whatever that was a second time.

“Clay—” George whimpered before he could stop himself, leaning into the touch desperately. His hands came up to wrap around Clay’s wrist, like he was holding onto him from where his neck was being held.

Clay’s eyes were wide, throat dry as he swallowed nervously. He understood this was a lot for George, but it was a lot for him too. He hadn’t expected to accidentally walk in on George getting off, and he certainly hadn’t expected himself to be so bold as to ensure they ended up in a situation like this. His stomach swirled with heat that shot towards his pants, and he wished he had George’s blanket to cover himself.

Heavy breaths found themselves from Clay’s mouth, eying the hands around his wrist warily as he used the grip it held to bring George even closer. He tilted his head to avoid their noses bumping together, eyes flickering to meet George’s, almost falling into the deepness of them. 

“Please.” Clay could hardly hear the uttered whisper, and he actually hesitated before swooping in to catch George’s lips between his own because he wasn’t sure if he’d misheard.

When their mouths collided, it was like nothing Clay had ever felt before. His brain short-circuited as George melted into him, small body becoming pliant under the handle around his neck.

Clay’s other hand slipped beneath the covers to run down George’s side, ducking beneath the material of his large hoodie to grasp at his flesh. His fingers pressed into George’s soft skin a little harder than the other boy expected, a moan vibrating between their joined mouths as his body jolted forward into Clay’s.

Surprised by the reaction, Clay tightened his grip, harsh enough that George would struggle to move unless he alleviated his hold. George wondered how hard Clay would have to press to leave bruises. He decided that was the night he was going to find out.

George let his hands fall from Clay’s wrist, pushing his shoulder gently so the taller one was laying flat on his back. He hoisted his leg around Clay’s body, pressing into his hip to sit up and plant himself on Clay’s lap. He brought the blanket with him, gathered around his waist and still covering the one place Clay had been dying to see again since he walked in.

By that point, Clay’s hand had disconnected from George’s neck and joined his other hand on either side of George’s waist, holding him flat against him. The feeling of George’s behind pressing into his crotch had Clay’s hips stuttering, grinding up against him like he needed to or else he wouldn’t survive.

George leaned down to join their lips again, confidence boiling within him from feeling just how eager Clay was beneath him, hips rolling in time with Clay’s grinding to move against his growing bulge.

George’s tongue slid easily into Clay’s mouth, the heat he was met with unlike anything he could have imagined. He longed for more, pressing in closer as his movements became feverish and fast. He’d wanted Clay for so long, he wasn’t about to wait now that he had him.

Straying from Clay’s lips, George made his way along the other boy’s jaw, peppering kisses further down until he reached his neck. Clay’s head tipped to the side, giving the British boy more space to do as he pleased. In the meanwhile, his hands ran up and down George’s smooth back, skimming over the soft dips of his spine. His nails scraped along the likely unmarked skin, and for once, Clay wished George wasn’t engulfed in the darkness of his hoodie, just so he could see the red lines that were beginning to cover his back.

“Mm. . . Clay,” George moaned against his neck, having to pause for a second. The sensation of pleasure mixed with pain was something George had never found himself craving, yet now that he’d had a taste, all he wanted was more. “Do that again.” He pleaded quietly, teeth grazing over the warmth of Clay’s neck, beginning to litter the skin with small bites and nips.

Clay wasn’t used to not having all the power in the situation, and he was struggling to come to terms with the fact that he sort of  _ liked _ George going about on his own accord. In an attempt to regain some of that authority, he spoke. “Oh, you mean, like this?” He put extra effort into dragging his nails down George’s back again, relishing in the way he had to pull away from Clay’s neck to sit up and arch his back, head tipped back in pleasure. His lips parted in a strained cry and he covered his mouth with one hand, the other resting on Clay’s chest to keep himself steady.

Drool  _ actually _ pooled in the forefront of Clay’s mouth, watching in awe as George’s body squirmed on top of his own. He yearned to see more of his skin, the thought causing a wave of heat to surge through him. At the same time, Clay was equally turned on by how small George looked in his hoodie, swimming in the layers of dark material as his hips rolled forward repeatedly to gain as much pleasure as possible.

Clay’s hands stayed at the small of George’s back, fingertips still digging in roughly to his skin. 

“Ah, shit, yes.” George’s voice was high and needy, muffled by the hand across his mouth. The noises were so beautiful. Clay needed more. He needed to hear his name falling from George’s lips, louder than the whispers he’d been privileged with earlier.

Deciding to just go for it, one of Clay’s hands moved around to the front of George’s hip, slowly shifting closer and closer to his crotch, taking the time to ensure George could stop him if he wanted to. When no effort was made to stop the movement of his hand, Clay pushed the blanket covering George’s lower half away and circled his fingers around the base of his length, teeth digging into the bottom of his lip as he stared at it.

Flushed, pink, hot. The same colour as the lips he’d been staring at for years, Clay couldn’t believe he was so lucky as to be looking at George in such a state, let alone holding him. He hardly registered the way George’s hips ground even more against his own, too entranced by the small droplet of precum that laid atop his tip.

He couldn’t help himself as his thumb swiped at the droplet and quickly wiped it across his tongue, eager to taste George’s sweetness.

“Fuck! Clay,” George cried out, both hands falling to steady himself on Clay’s chest.

Clay’s hand began to move slowly, up and down George’s shaft. He was desperate to taste him, feel him, hear him. “Taste so good,” came Clay’s mumble, voice distant and far off as he concentrated on working George’s length.

For the first time in a while, George was glad when Clay didn’t continue speaking. The only thing that rivalled his obsession with Clay’s hands was Clay’s voice, deep and teasing, always speaking the right words. He was having a hard time keeping himself contained as it was (he was doing a bad job, as well), he wouldn’t be able to cope if Clay started talking. Hearing his groans was enough to send George spiralling.

Distracted by his own thoughts, George was underprepared for the way Clay easily maneuvered his body from underneath, switching their positions so George was on his back and Clay was between his legs. Clay shuffled down eagerly, taking a moment to pull the blanket away and discard it on the ground, leaving George’s lower half bare for him to take in.

George was counting on having time to catch his breath, but Clay didn’t waste a moment as his hand resumed its position at the base of George’s cock, enveloping the tip with the heat of his mouth. He began bobbing almost immediately, tongue flicking over the slit every few moments to ensure not a droplet of precum went to waste. He moved with such fervour and need, fueled by the moans of pleasure that fell from the boy beneath him.

“Fuck, Clay—Clay, yes,” George whimpered, hand tousling through the blonde waves of hair between his thighs. He tugged gently, not expecting the vibrations that hummed around his length from the way Clay moaned. His hips stammered, forcing his cock further into the back of Clay’s mouth which only resulted in another wave of vibrations around him as Clay gagged, saliva beginning to dribble from the corners of his lips.

George struggled to release his grip on Clay’s hair, watching as the golden locks fell from his fingers.

Clay pulled off of George, hand still working over him quickly. “That felt so good, George.” Clay rasped, voice gravelly from the pace with which he’d taken George’s cock. “Love the feeling of you in my mouth,” he murmured, tapping George’s tip against the side of his face and poking his tongue out to swipe at it. George almost came right then and there, the sight so erotic, burned into his brain forever.

A noise similar to that of a whine made its way past his lips, making Clay smile. “Oh, you like that, huh, Georgie?” He began, voice low, barely above a purr. “Want me to tell you how good it feels, your cock in my mouth?” He turned to plant a kiss on George’s head, lips covering it for a moment as he sucked the dribbling precum from him. George gasped and tossed his head back, body arching. “Tastes amazing, want to try?” 

George didn’t have time to refuse, because Clay was already pushing himself up on one hand whilst the other found George’s head, pulling him down to capture his lips in a rough kiss, forcing his tongue through the gateway of his mouth. George scrambled to wrap his arms around Clay’s neck, urging him up so he laid between his legs. Their hips pressed together, the feeling of sweatpants rubbing against his burning length driving George mad.

His hands abandoned Clay’s neck in favour of sliding down his body and tugging at the waistband of his pants, legs hooked tightly around his waist to make sure their hips were kept as close as possible. “Off, can you—can you get these off?” He mumbled against his lips, the vague taste of his own precum lingering on the back of his tongue.

Clay smiled to himself, eyes lidded as he glanced down at George’s head. “Not with you around me, I can’t.” He responded cooly, one hand keeping him steady whilst the other ran along the outer edge of George’s thighs, tapping a couple of times. His skin was smooth and warm, begging Clay to cover him with kisses and bites and scratches. It was hot enough to imagine George’s neck covered with his marks, let alone somewhere like his legs.

That thought alone was enough for Clay to dig his nails into the paleness of George’s thighs, raking along. His fingers fell easily into the groove of George’s hip and the top of his thigh, using that grip to force him against the sleeping bag. There was no reason behind the action, he simply wanted to see how easily it would be to overpower the boy underneath him. From the way he whined out and squirmed under his arm, Clay figured it wouldn’t be difficult at all.

“Look at you,” Clay hummed, eyes scanning what he could see of George’s body. He sort of wanted George to take the hoodie off, but a larger part of him wanted to savour the image of fucking George into the ground beneath them, small body swamped by the clothing as Clay drew cries of joy from those sweet, sweet lips. “So small under me, so easy to control.” His thumb ran over George’s hip, and when he was met with resistance, he pushed him down even harder.

“Clay—” George whined, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe if he tried to ignore the increasingly filthy words Clay was whispering to him, they’d disappear? “—stop. . . don’t—don’t say that.” He stammered out unconvincingly, precum leaking from the tip of his cock onto the material of Clay’s sweatpants.

Clay furrowed his brows, concern overtaking him for a moment. “What? Why—” he ceased to continue his sentence, pausing with realisation as he looked down between them, suddenly aware of the wet-spot of George’s precum that had gathered on his very own pants, “— _ oh _ .” He finished, gritting his teeth together.

That was too hot. “Shit.” Clay whispered, taking a breath before lifting his head to look at George’s scrunched up, flushing face. His determination willed him through his moment of weakness, almost rendered unable to continue talking. George’s reaction to something so small was almost enough to silence the tall boy, but the way his narrow hips twitched in Clay’s hand and how his brows drew together in pleasure was too delicious for Clay not to keep going.

“Don’t say what, that you’re so small under me?” Clay carried on, eyes scanning George’s face to take note of which words elicited the best reactions. “Or that I want nothing more than to take control of you?” A glorious whimper sounded from George’s throat, muffled by his clamped lips. A proud smile flickered across Clay’s face and he ignored the way his cock throbbed in his boxers, desperate for some sort of attention. “Mm. . . that would be nice, I think. Taking control of your beautiful body. Beautiful for me.” Clay pressed cautiously, unaware if George would appreciate such an effeminate comment. 

It seemed George did, hips bucking into Clay as another gush of precum fell from his cock, only managing to moisten Clay’s pants even more. His back arched and his head tipped back into the pillows, a shaky moan finding its way through his glistening lips. “Shut up.” He whispered, voice laboured.

Clay felt himself getting carried away, but he couldn’t stop. Greed grew inside him, and he just wanted to see more of George, wanted to pull an uncountable amount of moans and gasps from his mouth. Clay wanted his name to be on George’s tongue, desperate to be the only thing he could think of. 

Clay wanted nothing more than to shower George with compliments and affection. He deserved it, especially because he hadn’t even wanted to be on this trip in the first place. It was the least Clay could do; treat him.

“Is that what you really want?” Clay whispered, amusement dancing through his low voice. George nodded. “You don’t want to hear how  _ hard _ you make me?” George’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, thankfully hidden since they were closed. Clay could see the ripple under his pale lids, though, satisfaction warming his body. “I’ve thought about this so much, almost every time we’re together. I bet you don’t want to hear about that, either.” He purred, leaning down to lick a stripe along George’s neck.

“God—Clay,” George moans, trying to push Clay away by shrugging his shoulder up and tipping his head to the side. Effectively, his neck was no longer reachable, and Clay had to pull back to get a better look at George.

He frowned, hand withdrawing from George’s hip to sprawl across his neck, fingers clamping on either side of his throat to force him back against the pillows. George’s eyes widened and his mouth tipped open, looking up at Clay with lust dripping from his heavy, dark eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” George mumbled, lifting part of his hand so he could dive back in and continue his assault on the base of his throat whilst making sure he couldn’t twist and get away.

Clay stayed like that for a while, taking his time marking George with hickeys and faint bruises, eventually straying from his throat to nip at his collarbone, not able to go far before the hoodie got in his way. After minutes of torturable pleasure, George needed to  _ feel _ Clay. There was only so much satisfaction he could gain by lacing his fingers through Clay’s dirty blonde locks. He longed for more, and it took him a considerable amount of time to muster up the will-power to form a coherent sentence.

“Clay, please, let me—” George struggled, forcing his legs down from around Clay’s hips to tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, “—touch you, please, let me touch you.” He begged, grappling at the wrist connected to the hand around his neck. “Please.”

Clay, sighing, released his grip from George’s neck and leant back between George’s legs so he was kneeling, briefly distracted by the way the other’s cock sat so nicely up against the lower part of his stomach which was thankfully revealed, unlike the rest of his upper body. “Only because you asked so nicely, Georgie.” Clay smiled standing up for a second so he could pull his pants down and discard them on the ground. He went to kneel again, but George stopped him.

“No, that too.” He said quickly, pointing at Clay’s white shirt.

Clay huffed dramatically, crossing his arms over the bottom of his front so he could pull his shirt off too, dumping it on top of his pants. 

George’s eyes only widened. Yes, he’d seen Clay shirtless before, but it was a rare occasion and never in a situation like this. His mouth tipped open and he stared, taking his time as his eyes raked over the bumps and grooves of Clay’s lean abdomen. God, what he would do to have his mouth all over his lightly defined abs, tongue trailing along the v that led only downwards. George didn’t know he could get any harder, his cock pooling with precum. “My god. . .”

Clay’s neck flushed, though he ignored it and plastered a cocky smile on his face. “Like what you see?” He taunted.

George nodded. “Yes—yeah, I do.” He breathed.

Clay went to kneel yet again, making George’s hands raise in defence. “Underwear, please.” He ordered, too much authority in his voice for a guy who’d been walked in on whilst getting off to the thought of his best friend.

Frown on his face and arms crossed, Clay rose a brow. “You sure are bossy.” He commented. An idea popped into his head suddenly, a devious smile playing on his lips. He gestured down to the bulge in his pants, standing with his legs slightly apart. “Since you have so much to say, why don’t you do it for me?”

George’s jaw fell, and he’d never scrambled to his knees so fast. Clay laughed at his exuberance, smile disappearing from his face when George’s hand began palming him through the fabric quicker than he’d expected. Precum leaked from the tip of his cock, further darkening the patch that had already begun to grow. “Oh, fuck.” Clay groaned out, watching with intense interest as George came forward to lick along the outline of his cock through the exterior of his boxers.

George could only play around for so long. As much as he wanted to get revenge and tease Clay for the next hour, he knew he couldn’t wait that long. He swiftly pulled Clay’s underwear down to his thighs, eyes glistening with fascination as his long, hard cock slapped up against the base of his abdomen. Clay hissed at the contact, gaze boring into George’s head. George had imagined what Clay had looked like under his belt for such an extended period of time, it was difficult for him to comprehend the sight before him.

_ This was really happening. _

It was like a dream come true for George, and Clay as well.

“You sure do stare a lot, Georgie.” Clay murmured quietly, fingers threading through the darkness of his soft hair. It was just long enough that Clay could hold it, but he didn’t yet. “You like it?” He asked, almost worriedly.

There was no space for doubt as George nodded and uttered a quiet ‘yes’, followed up by, “want it in me. . . want  _ you _ in me.”

Without wasting a second more, George wrapped his lips around the tip of Clay’s cock and began swallowing around it, tongue pressing flat against the dribbling slit as he kitten licked it. He began bobbing fairly quickly, going down as far as he could whilst his hand gripped what he couldn’t reach just yet. 

Clay couldn’t believe what he was seeing, struggling to hold himself back from grabbing George’s dark hair and using it as leverage to thrust his cock down his throat, over and over again until he was so raw he couldn’t speak his own name. He didn’t want to scare George off, though, or do something that might make him uncomfortable, so he settled for brushing a few stray strands of hair out from the slickness of his forehead.

“Fuck, George.” Clay groaned, unable to stop the stutter of his hips as George’s wide, chocolate eyes—which seemed to glow from the incandescence of the small light situated in the corner of his tent—stared up at him, a sense of innocence hidden behind his needy gaze despite the lewd position in which he found himself, between Clay’s legs. “Jesus Christ, you look so good like that.” Clay just about gushed, brows faltering as he felt his cock hit the back of George’s throat. 

A moan surrounded Clay’s length, a shudder racking through him at the unexpected vibration. A moan fell from his warm lips. He wanted to look away, a part of him itching to hide the adoration that melted from his eyes to George’s. He’d never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. It was nice that it was George who was making him feel this way, reduced to a puddle of nerves from the way George stared up at him, cock moving so effortlessly in and out of his swollen lips.

Clay sighed shakily, eyes briefly leaving George’s to watch the way his mouth enveloped him so nicely. Pride filled Clay’s heart, ego boosted whilst watching as George had to make up for what he couldn’t take in, which was about a quarter-and-a-half of his shaft, with his hand. He stroked it eagerly, popping off for a moment to drag his tongue over the prominent vein which ran along the underside of his length. Precum dribbled from Clay and down onto George’s upper lip once he returned to his tip. His tongue flicked out to clean his mouth, and it was barely a few moments before George was taking him in again.

“Holy shit,” Clay’s threaded fingers through George’s hair accidentally tugged on it, body reacting from how quickly George was working him. This only resulted in yet  _ another _ glorious wave of vibrations around his cock, Clay’s hips thrusting forward from the impact. George gagged around him, and Clay could have sworn he almost came right then and there. Hearing and—more importantly—feeling George spluttering over his cock turned Clay on more than he could have imagined, and he used his grip on George’s hair to yank him back to avoid coming on the spot.

Moaning, George glared up at Clay. The pressure on his head sent wonderful sensations throughout his body, filling him with more heat than he thought possible, but he also hadn’t wanted to be pulled off. “What was that for?” He demanded.

Clay shook his head, gently pushing George back to lay against the sleeping bag. He kicked away the underwear that had been left around his feet and then situated himself between George’s legs, kneeling back on his calves. “Can’t wait, you’re too—god, I need you.”

Propped up against the pillows, George dared to say, “tell me what you need.”

With a surprised look on his face, Clay figured it was time to get to work. He used a hand to spread George’s legs further apart, deciding he’d address what he’d been told to do in due time. For now, he needed to hear more of George, needed to  _ feel _ more of him.

“Legs up.” He mumbled, watching with satisfaction as George did as Clay said, knees bending back to spread himself out for Clay, who stared down between his legs hungrily.

He leaned across George’s body to press two fingers between his lips, forcing them further and further back until he could feel the tightness of George’s throat. George’s eyes widened. “Suck.” Clay ordered. George complied.

His mouth tightened needily around the digits, bobbing back and forth just like he had on Clay’s cock. His tongue swirled around and in between them, doing his best to keep his reactions to a minimum when Clay’s fingers would venture a little too far down his throat. Clay groaned, beginning to fist his cock with his free hand. This was too hot, too good to be true. A gentle reminder in the back of his head urged him to talk again, because if there was one thing that rivalled how turned on Clay was from the look on George’s face, it was the noises he made.

“Fucking hell, doing so well.” He murmured mindlessly, eyes entranced by the way saliva began to trickle down either side of George’s flushed lips. Brown eyes fell into the back of his head, so Clay continued. “Just for me, such a good job for me, George.” He just about cooed, enchanted by the way George whimpered around his fingers and moved faster around them, a new sense of urgency displaying itself across his gorgeous face. 

“Yeah, like that.” He praised. Such a good boy.” The pet-name fell from his lips before Clay had a chance to think about the fact that George mightn’t like it, but the way his hips bucked against Clay’s and his hands came up to grasp his wrist destroyed any traces of doubt from his mind. 

“Oh, that’s it? You want to be a good boy, George?” His tone was almost teasing, embarrassment flowing through George in the form of arousal. “ _ My  _ good boy?” Clay’s fingers slipped from George’s mouth, whose fingers alleviated their grip on his wrist.

“Yes,  _ yes, _ please, Clay. Touch me, please.” He begged, and who was Clay to deny him?

With a mischievous smile playing across his lips, Clay shuffled backwards on his knees until he could more easily reach between them. Now that his fingers were slicked up, he’d have no problem sliding one into George. He knew it was dangerous that they didn’t have lube, but the thought of George keening from the raw stretch of his cock was something Clay just  _ had _ to see.

He pressed one hand against George’s leg to spread him open further, captivated by the way George’s hole twitched with anticipation. “Relax.” Clay urged, thumb caressing the pale swathe of his thigh.

George shut his eyes and tipped his head back. He couldn’t watch, he was nervous enough as it was.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?” Clay prefaces as he begins to push the first finger in, sliding it through George’s tight rim and stopping only once it reached the first joint of his digit. He hadn’t explicitly asked for consent the entire night, and whilst he knew George would always be honest with him, he didn’t want him to feel pressured into just taking it because it was Clay.

George’s jaw dropped, a shaky, prolonged moan squeezing from his throat. He nodded hurriedly in confirmation, worried he wouldn’t be able to speak coherently if he tried.

“Good, good.” Clay mumbled absentmindedly, eyes concentrated on how well George was taking his finger as he began to thrust it back and forth. “Nice?” George nodded quickly, relaxing his legs a little to relieve the tension within him. It would only make it harder for Clay to continue.

After a couple of minutes, Clay began to work in his second finger. It brought forth a stinging feeling which, whilst not unfamiliar to George, was usually something he was in control of. It was strange to know that at any moment, Clay could go too far, push beyond George’s limits without knowing it because he couldn’t  _ feel  _ what George was. Excitement bubbled in his stomach, expressing it with a moan.

“Clay, more.” He pleaded, taking the time to open his eyes and look at Clay.

Pausing the speed of his fingers, Clay smiled. “You said you wanted to hear what I need, right?” He asked, referring to the question of George’s from before, which he’d ignored. George nodded.

Clay leaned forward over his body, his free hand keeping him balanced beside George’s head whilst he ducked down to begin nibbling at his earlobe. “You want to hear how much I want to be inside you, George?” He purred, slowly increasing the pace at which his fingers moved, lightly beginning to scissor them. “God, I can’t count how many times I’ve thought about  _ fucking _ —” Clay punctuated his words by curling his fingers up into George, savouring the way his back arched and a cry left his lips, “—you, George. You’re so beautiful, sound so good for me.” 

Whimpers fell from George’s lips as Clay began thrusting his hand faster again, body jolting each time he’d curl his fingers up to rub against George’s prostate. The small bundle of nerves buzzed with sensitivity, boiling heat flowing through his veins. “Ah, ah, oh my god,” George whined out, scrunching up the blanket beneath him with clenched fists, “more, please, more.” 

Clay obliged in more ways than one, managing to slide in a third finger and thrust it alongside the others at a slower rate. “What I  _ need _ , is to be inside you.” Clay reiterated, spreading all three of his fingers apart for a second time. George’s body visibly shook, eyes tipping shut again. “You want that, George?  _ I _ want it, want to feel you around me. You’re already being such a good boy for me here, can’t imagine what you’ll be like—” he paused, thrusting his fingers as deep as they could go and holding them there, “—when it’s my cock making you fall apart. Hm?”

Precum spilled from the George, adding to the dampness from where his cock laid against the bottom of his hoodie. The whines that flowed from his lips were intoxicating, music to Clay’s ears. The faster he moved his fingers, the harder he bit down on George’s neck, the more of those noises he was gifted with. He could go on like this forever if it meant he had a never-ending supply of George’s gasps and groans, but something told him that wouldn’t be enough to sustain the writhing boy beneath him.

“Yeah, so pretty for me, so tight.” Clay mumbled and moved his fingers at a relentless pace. George’s body rubbed back against the sleeping bag with so much friction, he wouldn’t be surprised if the other boys could hear it over George’s moans, which had grown increasingly louder from Clay’s most recent choice of words.

The abuse to his prostate was interminable, and if Clay had paid any attention to his cock then George knew he would have come by now.

With heavy eyes, Clay pulled back to stare down at George, who couldn’t meet his eyes. His face was flushing with humiliation, embarrassed yet incredibly turned on by how Clay was taking control of him.

“I bet it was me you were thinking of before I walked in, wasn’t it, Georgie?” Clay murmured into George’s neck, tongue sliding over the bruising skin. George nodded quickly, but Clay wanted more. He wanted to know that the way George’s small body had shaken as he fisted his length was because of him, no one else. “Thinking of me fucking you so good, hm? Until my name’s the only thing in that pretty little head of yours?” George shivered. He couldn’t speak.

Kneeling more so than leaning gave Clay the opportunity to use his free hand, grabbing either side of George’s chin to pull his head in the direction of his own so they were facing each other. His other hand slowed down, pulling out almost all the way, save for the very tips of his fingers. George moaned out in frustration, trying to shift his hips downwards to suck more of Clay in.

“I want to hear it.” Clay order, authority thick in his voice. “Say it George, tell me who you were thinking of.” 

With a pained look scribbled across his soft features, Clay watched as contemplation flashed in George’s deep umber orbs. He shook his head, lips clamped shut.

Irritation twitched itself onto Clay’s face, fingers moving from George’s chin to squeeze his cheeks together and make his lips form a pout. “I  _ said _ , I,” one thrust of his fingers, “want,” another, “to hear it.” His closing thrust was his deepest yet, fingers pushing further and further into George as his back arched with pleasure. His hands shook the blanket beneath them, finally crying out once Clay’s hand dropped from his face.

“You, you! Ah, fuck, I was thinking of you.” Came George’s exhausted confession, eyes cracking open to peak up at Clay. “You, you Clay, I need you, please just—fuck me, oh my god, please.” George babbled, pupils blown wide and cheeks lit up red.

Clay was smiling on the inside, but his expression on the outside was pure hunger. 

His fingers left George, instead taking a hold of his own cock as he shuffled into a more comfortable position between George’s legs and began lining himself up. He took a deep breath.

This was really happening.

He was about to have sex with George.

The teenager who had been lusting after his friend for years partied inside Clay, and he smiled reminiscently. Horny, highschool Clay would be so proud of him. This had been his dream for so long, and he was still coming to terms with the fact that it was happening.

His tip pressed against George’s opening, eyes trained on his face, searching for traces of concern as he began to push in.

George’s eyes rolled back and he dropped his head, hands coming up to cover his face. With one hand directing his length, the other swiftly grabbed both of George’s wrists and held them down. A panic look covered his expression, almost saying  _ ‘no, don’t look at me!’. _

Clay couldn’t look away, their eyes pouring into each other as he slid further and further inside, pace slow and steady, stopping only once his hips became flush with the back of George’s thighs.

He glanced down once he’d bottomed out, a shaky breath. He used one thumb to spread George apart, looking breathlessly at their point of connection. “Holy fuck. . .” Clay murmured, studying the sight for longer than George was happy with.

“Clay,” George whimpered brokenly. Clay took the time to look up at George, having not realised how much he was ruining him by staying so still. “Move,  _ please _ .” His eyes were glossed over with need, and how could Clay ignore that?

Bringing his hand away from George’s wrists to take hold of his hips instead, Clay smiled. “As you wish.”

Clay begins moving slowly. He uses his grip on George’s hips to keep himself steady, thrusts surely becoming faster and faster as his cock slid swiftly in and out of George. The sound was erotic, wet, though barely heard over the string of please and ‘Clay’s’ that fell from George’s mouth.

Such sounds only increased in both volume and amount as Clay sped up even more, desperate to hear his name screamed from George’s throat. He stared down at him lovingly, adoration and affection so clear in his honey gaze, dripping down onto George who stared right back up at him. 

“Oh fuck, yes, yes, right there.” George moaned, the velocity at which Clay moved unrelentless as he began to slam his hips roughly into George’s, fucking him into the harshness of the ground beneath them. Neither of them cared about the way Clay’s knees ached from its flatness or how the pain of laying down on such a hard surface for so long began to gnaw away at George’s spine, both boys completely focused on each other, like they were the only people in the world.

George’s hands scrambled to slap on top of Clay’s, holding them tightly over where his hips were being held. He loved Clay’s hands, and he needed the contact, needed to know that he was still there. He’d had dreams about moments like this so often, he needed the confirmation that this wasn’t one of those times, that this was real.

“I’m right here, fuck, George,” Clay groaned out, as if able to see exactly what was on George’s mind. He tossed his head back for a moment, plunging into George so easily, it was like their bodies were made for each other. “Ahh, my god, you’re so good around me, so good  _ for _ me,” Clay rambled, relishing in the way George’s hips seemed to twitch against his with each bit of praise he delivered, “look at you, my good boy, just for me.”

“Ahh, fucking christ, Clay!” George moaned, legs wrapping themselves around Clay’s hips and securing as he crossed his ankles, bringing Clay in as far as he could.

“You like that?” Clay prefaced, slowing down his pace so each of his thrusts was deep inside George, cock nudging his prostate. George cried out louder than he had for the rest of the night, the shrill tone like music to Clay’s ears. God, he needed to hear that again. “You’re  _ mine _ , George, so beautiful and all mine, so desperate for me. You should see yourself, fuck.” His hips rammed into George, all of his energy going into his last few movements as he neared his orgasm.

One of Clay’s hands moved to clasp around George’s straining length. The one thing that had started all of this had been pretty ignored for most of the night, and Clay decided that would no longer be the case.

With his hand squeezing the base of George’s shaft in time with the fervent thrusts, Clay continued. “Tell me, George. I want to hear it; whose are you?” Clay growled, growing impatient with how close he was to his orgasm.

George broke, hips grinding in desperation against Clay with the hopes of giving his cock some sort of friction. He felt like he was about to explode, he needed to, so badly.

“Yours! I’m yours, please, Clay, please, let me come, I need to come, please,” He begged mindlessly, the words falling from his lips like he’d said them before, or at least thought them. His fingers dug into Clay’s hands and he shook against him hopelessly. The pause was unbearable, silence filled only by the whimpers that dribbled from his throat.

With that, Clay spat into his palm and finally began moving his hand around George’s cock, still pounding into him slowly as his fingers moved up and down the other boy, racing him to his orgasm.

“Oh god, yes, right there, right there,” George cried, Clay slamming into his g-spot at the same time his thumb ran over George’s tip, triggering the moment he’d been waiting for that whole night. “Clay!”

George’s orgasm erupted all throughout him, shudders racking through his body and causing him to shake almost violently as Clay continued to fuck into him whilst fisting his cock, the overstimulation clouding his mind with one thought and one thought only;  _ Clay. _

Clay watched in awe as white, hot cum began to spill over his fist and mixed with the saliva he’d used as lube around George’s cock, unable to help himself as he brought it up to his mouth and ran his tongue over his fingers.

George’s moans distracted him from all else, though, cries and whimpers of his name being the only thing he could think about, his grip returned to George’s hips and he resumed his relentless pace, chasing his own climax needily. “Oh god, George.” He felt it building in the pit of his stomach, head thrown back as, with one final, deep thrust into George, his orgasm washed over him. Clay’s cum spilled into George, shallowly moving his hips as he rocked himself through it. 

When George began to twitch with overstimulation, Clay pulled out, eyes trained on the way his cum leaked from George’s hole. He pressed a thumb against it, massaging it around his swollen rim, stopping only once George’s hand found his wrist.

He pulled himself up, breathlessly, to hover over George, capturing his lips in a loving, almost thankful kiss which lasted almost a minute, but Clay still felt it wasn't enough. He didn’t think he could ever get enough of George’s sweet mouth.

With a giddy smile on his face, Clay collapsed next to George, arm looped lazily over his waist for a moment, taking the time to catch his breath. Both of their chests heaved with exhaustion, and laying down was enough for the need for sleep to engulf Clay. His eyes squinted in the dim light, though, so he leaned over George to turn off his reading light and by the time he'd flopped back down, George had curled up into himself and pressed his body into Clay’s, who in turn, wrapped his arms around him tightly and placed a final, gentle kiss on his equally soft lips.

George, in all his drowsiness, kissed back. It was tiring, but he managed.

“Goodnight, Georgie.” Clay murmured.

A soft smile came onto a nearly unconscious George’s face, sleep doing its best to overtake his body. "Goodnight, Clay." He replied sleepily, this time initiating their actual final kiss before letting his head fall against the pillow and lean up against Clay’s bare chest.

Clay felt his heart swell and he closed his eyes, falling asleep with a fading but for once, very sincere, happy smile over his freckled features with one final thought on his mind: he was in love with his best friend.

And that was perfectly fine.


End file.
